Mile High Memories

"Attention ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned off the seat belt sign and if you should feel the need to move about the cabin you may do so at this time. We do however, encourage you to keep the safety belt fastened while in your seats. Thank you." The voice over the PA was full of authority and just a bit sultry, as the best flight attendants were. The voice belonged to a beautiful woman with long blond hair, pulled back in a pony tale that cascaded down her back. The blue airline uniform she wore supplied the authority, but the way she filled it out was all sultry.

I'd made eye contact with her twice so far, once when we boarded the plane, the passengers filing in like geese or cattle would be herded, and once during the pre-flight spiel about how I was supposed to kiss my ass goodbye in the unlikely event of a water landing. On an outbound flight from St. Louis to Kansas City, a water landing was pretty fucking unlikely.

Now she made eye contact for the third time, leaning in close to me as she asked "Is there anything I can get for you, sir?" And the authority was gone—just the sultry remained.

"I can think of any number of things." She smiled appreciatively at that, and it wasn't the "I get this twenty times a day, back off" smile. There was genuine warmth to it. Even a little heat as a blush rose in her features. I couldn't help but notice her red lipstick matched the pin striping on her tight uniform.

The game was a go. It was a risky line to open with—it sounded like something out of one of my own trashy romance novels—but with sales of over 30 books, the last fourteen of them best sellers, I figured I knew a thing or two about what women were looking for. This woman was definitely looking.

"Perhaps after I finish with the beverage service I can find something to appease you." She said, and hurried away. I glanced at my watch. Take off from St. Louie was a scant seven minutes ago, but it was only a 45 minute flight anyway. Touchdown at KCI was going to come far too soon. The beverage service lasted longer than I wanted, but fortunately these small commuter flights never held many passengers, and this one was less than half full as it was.

She gave me a look as she passed headed for the aft part of the cabin. I waited a moment; then got up to follow, ostensibly to give my legs a needed stretch. She was in the cubby that served as a galley, and pointed discreetly toward the bathroom as I walked by.

I entered the—well, the word bathroom doesn't really describe airline commodes, does it? I mean, there is no room, and certainly no bath. I stood facing the plastic toilet wondering just how the logistics of this encounter were going to work when she slid in behind me, closed and locked the door.

I smiled at her—Amber, according to the name tag pinned just above her left breast—and was afforded one back. She had a brilliant smile that lit the small enclosure. "I'm sure you get this all the time, Mr. Bishop, but I loved your last novel."

So she knew who I was. Or at least, thought she knew, as Rick Bishop was a literary figment, simply a pen name dreamed up by my publicist. "Thank you. It's always nice to meet a fan." God that sounded canned. Not at all the way to set the mood.

"I just finished Earthbound, and recognized you from your picture in the jacked cover." she went on, loosening the top to her uniform. The belt gave way and the blue tunic parted, falling away from her ample breasts that strained against the lacy white fabric of her bra. Her nipples pushed out even farther against the semi-transparent material. Her hands moved now for my belt. "I got so wet reading the scene you wrote where Jackie and Conner make love in that old barn. It was very passionate."

Funny enough, I was dissatisfied with the last novel. Oh, it had all the mechanics. The thrusting, shoving and fucking of a thick rod into tight wet pussy, that was all there, but I felt it was missing the emotion of the moment. The raw power that sex holds over people. The passion, as she put it. And then she had freed my cock from my pants and it disappeared between her cherry red lips with wanton hunger.

Maybe there's something to be said for the mechanics of it all after all...

Amber had sunk to her knees as best she could in the tight enclosure, and had backed me against the sink. She had one hand cupped, caressing my balls—and look at that, matching red nail polish—as the other encircled and stroked my cock in and out of her cherry lips.

She made appreciative sucking and slurping noises as she stoked, and had me at full erection in no time. Every so often she would interrupt her stroke to run her tongue up the full length of the underside of my cock, swirl it around the head and then resume her back and forth bobbing motion. The next pause would be to sink as far forward as she could, taking more and more of my shaft into her throat and gently squeezing my balls before backing off and bobbing again.

My hands, initially resting on either side of the plastic sink basin, soon roamed down over her bare neck and shoulders, toying with the white bra strap that held so much wonder aloft. She moaned around her mouth full of dick, and arched her back a bit, bringing her breasts higher and giving me permission. I could see the swell of both mounds below the show going on at waist level, and knew I needed to see more. I slowly slid one finger under the strap on her left shoulder, and teasingly hooked it and slid it off. The strap fell as if the plane had hit an air pocket, and the tight lacy bra fell forward a bit. It clung stubbornly to the curve of her body, but so much more was exposed. I performed the same tactic with the other strap and was rewarded with a similar rising level of cleavage. Her nipples were just barely hidden behind the fabric now, and every move she made caused the bra to rise and fall, grazing against the tips. Amber moaned again, and I felt the first twang hit me.

I have always felt the most intimate thing a woman can do to a man is to take his cum in her mouth. There is something not only sensual and erotic about it, but almost spiritual, and I'm not one to go in for that kind of thing. It's the ultimate act of trust, something that only two very connected people can share. For a woman to do that... wow that is passion. It is also an experience I've never had. Oh, I've had oral sex, blowjobs, had women go down on me, however you prefer it set, and I've written reams of pages about the act, the sucking and stroking and grunting until the final quivering moment when the man rushes forth in unmatched sublime bliss and the woman accepts his gift hungrily or demurely like a high priestess at communion... but have never managed it myself. I suppose in that regard, I am a fraud, since the old adage "write what you know" in this instance at least, is lost on me.

But Amber, maybe she sensed this. I think now she must have, because all of a sudden, something changed. I'm not sure if it was her stroke, or her technique or any other damned mechanic. All I know is that it went from feeling good, to feeling exceptionally good. And the old quivering feeling started, first deep down in my balls, my heavy, cum filled balls that she was still massaging with one hand. And that quiver began to spread out from my groin through my torso and down my legs. That quiver began climbing up my cock—still clutched in her hand—like the mercury in a slowly rising thermometer. She looked at me, looked me right through my eyes into the depths of my soul, the very fiber of my being. Her hand left my swelling balls just long enough to reach around and release the clasp on the back of her bra. Almost in slow motion, the twin white parachutes fell away from her perfect body, her back still arched thrust them forward, closer to me. An instant later, her hand was back massaging my balls and the slowly rising quiver rushed up my shaft.

She pulled back for just a second. Just long enough for those red lips to part and utter, "Give me your passion."

And I did. The quiver finally reached full throttle and I came.

I came harder than I have ever cum before. The first explosion was a shotgun blast that bucked me back with its force. My first cum shot splashed against her parted lips, white on red, glaze on candy. She opened her mouth wide, and caught my second blast on her tongue, and the whole time, her eyes never left mine.

Suddenly, she dove forward and devoured my cock, sucking my cum from me as quickly as I released it. Her full tits pressed against my thighs, her hands encircled around behind and held my ass tight as I pumped again and again and again. I thought I would never stop cumming. The sensation was... well, for a writer to have no words. Anything I put will come woefully short of describing the exquisiteness of her warm mouth closed over me, accepting me, holding me close and tight, and always looking me in the eye.

And my theories on intimacy and trust were blown away by this woman, this total stranger, who accepted me and made me feel wanted and loved and gave me the most precious gift I have ever received.

At last, the onslaught was over, the quiver ebbed and faded away and left me with a pair of rubber legs. Amber bounded up, her breasts doing an amazing impression of weightlessness before rocking back into place, and licked her cherry lips clean.

Ding.

"Attention ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. At this time we're turning the seat belt light back on, and are going to ask the flight attendants to prepare the cabin for landing as we are making our final approach into Kansas City." The pilot's voice—no sultry here, all authority and Chuck Yeager astronaut drawl—came through even into the tiny bathroom, and I realized with a start how loud and cramped the conditions were.

I blinked, and Amber was once again before me, bra back in place, uniform tunic on and buckled with nary a blonde hair out of place—and how the hell had she managed to pull that one off?

"Keep writing the good stuff, Mr. Bishop." She kissed me gently on the cheek then went out to perform whatever preparations were needed for landing. I sagged back against the sink, a dreamy smile rising on my lips.